


Repairs

by helloshepard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Eye Trauma, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Romance, Romance, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4561116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Korriban is not a good place for former Sith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repairs

**Author's Note:**

> I'm playing through TSL for the millionth time, and I've become extremely attached to this pairing (is it platonic is it romantic we just don't know). And Visas is just a great character--one of my all time favorites. Hope you enjoy!

Visas waited.

Korriban’s wind howled and tugged at her robes and skin.

Her head ached.

The cave—she and Atton should not have left Meetra alone, they should have stayed and waited _there,_ not here _—_ lingered in her mind.

Visas could not feel anything, and the uncertainty gnawed at her. Certainly, she could feel the rocks under the soles of her boots, and the biting wind, but _life…_ on Korriban, life was absent.

She knew Atton was waiting onboard the _Ebon Hawk,_ keeping the ship’s engines primed and ready to leave once the exile returned.

Kreia was there too, Visas knew, but what she was doing was a mystery—it was always hard to see her, and impossible now. The engineer and the bounty hunter were blanks in the canvass of Visas’s mind, and she tried to reach out to them, but was met with a silent void.

Korriban winds were cold.

A Miraluka’s body temperature stayed a few degrees higher than a human’s, but Visas still shivered, pulling her robes tighter against her body.

Warmth, mixed with pain, spread from her head down her body as Visas recalled the panic of being completely immobile and watching the exile walk into the cave alone.

Alone. Unprotected.

Though she knew it was a futile, useless thing, Visas stood willing to offer her life for the exile if needed. Surik staunchly refused to hear it whenever Visas mentioned the idea, and the Miraluka had realized it might be best if she did it quietly, when Surik would be unaware and unable to stop her.

She knew the others felt similarly. Atton was visibly distressed as they walked back to the _Ebon Hawk_ and had been muttering things Visas wholeheartedly agreed with, though she did not tell him.

Visas lifted a hand to her face, brushing at her cheekbones as if she could brush away the pain with the Force.

Using the Force here seemed _wrong,_ as if to use it here was to give into the Dark Side and let _him_ govern her once again.

Visas shivered and pulled her hand away from her face.

It came away stained with blood.

Though the blood failed to make her queasy, Visas took a step back. Confusion, ideas, swirled through her mind, and she shook her head.

No matter the cause, the answer was simple.

They had to find the exile and leave.

Visas stepped forward, then to the side, willing her legs to _work._ The darkness—she could taste it now, now that she knew it was here, swirled around her, perfectly in tune with the wind, pulling at her robes and headdress.

 She could _see_ now, but it was only the sight her Lord (Nihilus, she reminded herself. It was only Nihilus.) had shown her.

Her breaths came quick and shallow, filled with grit and sand.

Visas realized she was on her knees.

Trembling, she reached out through the Force, trying to see Meetra, before pulling away and shrinking back from the darkness that fast approached her.

_Peace is a lie_

Visas shook her head.

“Peace,” she whispered. “There is peace.”

Kneeling was easier than getting back up so Visas remained where she was, but reached out to grasp at the small ridges the Sith archeologists had left behind.

“Visas?”

She looked up, but Surik was already kneeling, hands firmly on her shoulders and examining what she could see of Visas’s eyes—if the stare directed at her face was accurate.

“What happened?

“Nothing.” The exile’s presence, a soothing constant despite the paradoxical nature _of_ her presence, was enough to have Visas standing. “If you are ready to leave, I will follow.”

Blinded as she was, Visas could just imagine the nature of Surik’s stare, her uncomprehending gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

Visas tried to ignore the blood that was beginning to trickle (again) from her eyes and replied.

“This planet is strong. The Force…it sometimes chooses to speak with a shout, instead of a whisper.” She hesitated. “And that shout is not always from the light.”

The exile stiffened.

“Let’s go, then.”

Visas took an uncertain step forward, fully intending to follow her back to the ship, but her knees buckled under her.

As if it could sense her weakness, the wind slowed to a breeze.

“C’mon Visas.” Then Surik’s arm was around her shoulders, pulling her up and steadying her, and Visas was suddenly relying on the exile more than she wanted to admit. “I’m not leaving you.”

“I am slowing you down.”

“We’re not in any hurry.”

Her boots felt the cold metal of the _Hawk,_ and Visas stepped onboard. Surik yelled that they were here, and leaving _now_ would be great.

Accordingly, the ship hummed and lifted off—it was in better working order now, easier to maneuver and had faster response time, Visas knew.

For all his faults, Visas had to admit Atton was a good pilot. Despite the ship’s state of general disrepair, there was no unnecessary tilting or turning—nothing that hampered Surik leading Visas to the ship’s small medical wing.

“It is unnecessary,” Visas protested. “I will fix it myself, once we have left Korriban’s atmosphere.”

“Then I’ll give you the supplies.” Surik pushed a crate of supplies away. “Sit.”

Visas did as directed.

When she was sure the exile was preoccupied with rummaging through their supplies, she shook her head, trying to clear the fog of Korriban away.

“Does this happen often?” Surik pressed a kolto patch into her hand. Visas accepted it, peeling off the protective covering and taking an experimental swab with a piece of gauze.

“Visas?”

Too late, Visas realized she had been staring at the patch while her eyes began to bleed. _Again._

An intense burst of self-loathing rose and collapsed in her chest, spurned on by the drops of blood that fell into her lap.

She flinched when she felt the exile wipe away the blood. Too quickly, she rubbed at her eyes with the kolto patch.

It stung and she shivered, but continued, until her eyes were, more or less, clean.

The exile was examining the kolto patch.

“It looks like a mild infection.” Surik peeled a glove off and touched the Miraluka’s cheek.

Despite Korriban’s heat, the exile’s touch was still cool.

Despite herself, Visas leaned into the touch.

It occurred to her that if the holovids Mira and Atton ‘secretly’ watched were accurate, this was the time for the romantic climax. The hero wearing patched and frayed robes had saved Visas from her weakness, and they were getting ready to face their newest trial. Together. It would take a small slip, and their lips would meet.

She could just imagine the exile’s warm lips on her own, fingers running through her hair and across the scars on her body, before holding Visas down on the berth. Visas would let her do it, too, and they would switch—awkwardly at first, Visas admitted to herself (it had been a long time since she had been in control of anything) until Meetra was the one under Visas, held down by trembling fingers and knees pressed against slender hips. And then Meetra Surik would _see_ her.

Meetra would see her face—her face uncovered, with her own eyes, not through the Force.

Mentally, Visas shook off the thought.

“I think this is the right one.” The exile was examining a liquid that glowed within its vial. Visas watched as she prepared a syringe, then held it out to the Miraluka. Visas accepted it, inserting it into her arm without question. It did not hurt.

“The instructions say to take it with food and water, but the processor is still broken.”

If Surik knew what Visas had been thinking about, she gave no indication. Visas wasn’t sure she _did_ know—for all her powers, Meetra Surik was still relearning, and with that came times she didn’t seem to even acknowledge the presence of the Force. This seemed to be one of those times.

“Visas.” A cup. “Water.”

She accepted it and took a small sip. Reassured when her body did not protest, she finished the glass and set it down beside her.

“What happened?” Visas asked.

Surik flinched.

“I apologize.” Visas shifted uncomfortably, wishing she had remained silent. “I should not have asked.”

“No. I’d rather tell you than…”

Kreia? Atton?

Meetra took the glass in her hand.

“I saw things. The battle on Dxun. Malak’s recruitment. Others.”

The exile’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Revan. And me.”

Visas inclined her head but remained silent.

Surik set the glass down and shuddered.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Visas.”

It was a moment of weakness Nihilus would have exchanged for hours of agony.

“We are here to fight, and die, by your side.”

“I don’t…” The exile lowered her head. “I never wanted that. From you, or Mira, or Atton—”

“You cannot fight your battles alone.” Carefully, Visas reached out to take hold of Surik’s wrists. The former Jedi did not protest, taking a step towards her. “I am proud to stand with you.”

Surik’s only response was a nod. Then.

“I’ll leave you. We’ll be on Dantooine by tomorrow.””

Heart pounding, Visas took a chance.

“You do not have to leave.”

Meetra looked up.

Visas wavered.

“I…” Visas cringed. “I enjoy speaking with you. Your presence.”

Surik nodded, and Visas cursed her temporary clumsiness with words.

“Sit.” An echo of Meetra. Though it was just a few moments previous, it felt like hours.

Meetra sat, shoulders turned in and head lowered.

“You should be resting. When’s the last time you slept?”

Visas did not reply, choosing instead to reach out and pull the spare berth closer to hers.

“Sleep.”

Meetra glanced at her.

“Are your eyes okay?”

“Yes.” They stung, but she could no longer feel blood, and the dirt had been cleared. Wrapping gauze around her eyes was an option, but it would be a distraction, and might fall off when she needed to be _focused._

Meetra crawled over to the other berth, kicking her boots to the floor and lying down.

“Visas?”

Visas turned.

“I’m not sleeping by myself.” She yawned, and Visas suspected this was more for show than anything else. “I’m not the one in the medcenter.”

 Visas smiled. It was a small smile, but to her, it felt bigger than the whole galaxy.

“As you wish.”

Surik was already asleep when Visas lay down. The Miraluka found something oddly endearing in that, but paused to brush back stubborn strands of hair behind the exile’s ear before turning onto her side and dimming the lights with a wave of her hand.

When she woke up, heart pounding, with images of Katarr seared onto her mind, the other berth had been moved right next to hers, and exile’s arm was laid across her hip.

It centered her more than Visas wanted to admit.

 The exile sighed. It was a quiet thing, and barely touched the fabric of her headdress, but Meetra suddenly pulled her just a little closer. Visas responded in turn, pulling her gloves off and resting her hand on Meetra’s. Letting out another sigh, Meetra relaxed.

Once again, Visas slept.


End file.
